


Slip A Dick To Your Witcher

by Nary



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Companionable Snark, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hair Washing, Inappropriate Use of Poetry, M/M, Massage, Podfic & Podficced Works, Power Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Service Top Jaskier, Top Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: Does what it says in the title.  We all know why we're here, folks.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 109
Kudos: 1783
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	Slip A Dick To Your Witcher

Jaskier dumped a bucket of water over Geralt's head, and the witcher gave a displeased snort, shaking his head like a cantankerous horse. "There, now doesn't this feel better than being covered in half-digested fish?"

"Hrmph."

"See, you always complain about baths, but once you're in, you love it. And after you're clean, I'll take a look at those scrapes and bruises, see if we can't get you patched up." Jaskier had an array of salves and ointments at the ready for treating cuts, burns, and other minor injuries - he'd found that they came in handy while travelling with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher was a fast healer, but he was also almost constantly getting into fights that left him looking like someone had dragged him ass-backwards through a hedge. A hedge made of knives. And every little bit of energy he didn't have to expend on healing himself was more he could use for other purposes. Or at least that's what Jaskier told himself. 

"Now, your hair," the bard said. "It's a nightmare, quite honestly. I mean it - I have dreams about this. Not to worry, I'll take care of it." He pulled a stool up and sat behind Geralt, giving a disapproving frown at the filthy leather tie that held his hair back before carefully removing it so that the witcher's ponytail fell down from its constraints. Some soapwort extract, liberally applied, helped get the worst of the grime out, and Geralt actually seemed to relax somewhat as Jaskier ran his fingers through the snarled white locks, gradually helping to untangle them until they lay in silky strands. 

From there, his hands wandered down to Geralt's broad shoulders, rubbing the thick, knotted muscles. Geralt sighed and let his head hang forward, so Jaskier continued massaging him, digging in harder. He leaned in closer, glancing over the witcher's shoulder, and was able to glimpse through the rippling surface of the water that his ministrations were definitely having an effect. He smirked to himself and continued, running his hands over Geralt's upper arms before sliding his wet hair to one side so that he could work his way up to his neck again. Geralt gave a low moan, reclining back, and reached out with one hand, grasping Jaskier's shirt to tug him close enough for a rough kiss.

"Oh, is this how it's going to be?" Jaskier teased. "There's no need to get my clothes all wet, Geralt."

"Take them off, then," Geralt said.

"Fine," Jaskier said. "But rinse yourself off and then get out of the tub - it's not big enough for both of us."

"We could make it fit, you're small," Geralt grumbled, but rose, dripping and glorious, from the water, and began to towel himself off.

"Besides," Jaskier added as he hastily undressed, not taking his eyes off Geralt for a moment, "water is terrible for sex."

"First water's good, then it's bad - make up your mind," Geralt said, but Jaskier could tell he was teasing. The witcher's sense of humour was dry but not nonexistent. 

"There's a real bed, we can fuck there like civilized people for once," Jaskier told him firmly. "No one needs to get twigs or rocks lodged in their knees or backsides. And you're still injured - let me at least put some lotion on you first. It'll help you relax." 

"I'm fine," Geralt protested, but did as he was told and lay on the bed face down so that Jaskier could tend to him. The chamomile oil would work best, the bard decided, being suitable for most kinds of minor pains and wounds. He straddled the small of the witcher's back, dripping a bit of the scented oil into the palm of his hand so that he could rub it in. For all of Geralt's grumbling, he couldn't hold back a sigh when Jaskier started working the scented oil into his aching muscles. For his part, Jaskier enjoyed the way Geralt melted under his touch, letting his guard down and just enjoying the sensations. 

Gradually he inched lower, until Geralt's ass presented itself to him. He caressed the generous curves, continuing to massage the oil into those thick muscles. An idea was blossoming in his mind and he was feeling just about bold enough to try it. "Spread your legs," he instructed Geralt, his fingers lightly stroking the cleft of the witcher's ass, still damp from the bath. 

"Why?" Geralt asked, immediately wary again.

"Because," Jaskier told him soothingly, "I can help you relax more. It'll feel good."

Geralt hesitated for a moment, but slid his legs apart by a few inches. "Fine." He was still tense, though. Jaskier made sure his fingers were well-oiled before he began lightly circling Geralt's tight hole. 

"Fuck!" Geralt pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could look over his shoulder at Jaskier. "Is that the same greasy shit you put on my wounds that you're trying to shove up my ass?"

"It's chamomile," Jaskier told him. "An excellent remedy for many ailments, including bruises, burns, sciatica, and hemorrhoids. By which I mean," he added quickly at Geralt's frown, "it's totally fine to use for, uh, this purpose. Internally. So lie back down and let me take care of you."

Geralt didn't look completely convinced, but he did lie back down. Jaskier resumed rubbing his buttocks, giving him a chance to relax again. His own cock was so hard it was aching, but he didn't want to rush this - for one thing, if he did it poorly, he'd likely never get another chance. Geralt wasn't one for a lot of small talk, especially in bed, but Jaskier knew how to read his body, the patterns of tension and the flow of his breath, the way he sighed or shifted his weight giving clues the bard had learned to interpret. This time, instead of heading straight for his asshole, he reached between Geralt's legs to fondle his balls. Geralt responded by lifting his hips a little, giving Jaskier enough room to get his hand underneath him and stroke the base of his cock. 

"You like that?" he asked, and received an answering grunt that he took to be an affirmative. With one hand thus occupied, he could use the other to continue to tease Geralt's ass, keeping him distracted on two fronts - or rather, one front and one rear. 

Soon Geralt was rocking his hips slowly, and Jaskier strove to match his rhythm. "Spread just a little further," he told him, and Geralt obliged, to the point where Jaskier had to rapidly reposition himself or risk being split in half. Safely ensconced between Geralt's parted thighs, he had an excellent view of his ass, that splendid pass between two meaty mountains that led, if one continued with this metaphor, to a dark cavern where treasure lay... 

Jaskier bit back both a moan and a few lines of spontaneous poetry, storing them away for later. Past experience had taught him that Geralt didn't respond well to extemporaneous verse during sex. Instead he began gradually pressing his slick fingers inside Geralt, unlocking that tightly-sealed treasure vault. "Fuck," Geralt muttered softly, but didn't tell him to stop, and indeed opened further at his touch. Jaskier was fairly sure Geralt could have broken his knuckles with a single clench if he was so inclined, so that was probably a sign he should keep going. He worked his fingers in and out of him, feeling how he relaxed a little more with each stroke.

"More," Geralt said suddenly when he was two fingers deep.

"More? Oh, _more_! Of course, yes, I can do that," Jaskier stammered. He had expected it to take a bit more persuasion and probing to get to this point, but apparently Geralt knew what he wanted and was impatient for it now. "Ah, just a moment," he said, getting hurriedly into position, rubbing the remnants of the chamomile oil on his dick as quickly as he could. "Oh, gosh..." 

Sinking his cock into Geralt's ass was like working his way into a smoothly-oiled bear trap - he moved carefully so as not to spring it too soon. Geralt made a rumbling sound somewhere between a growl and a moan, pushing back until Jaskier was fully inside him. 

"Don't, oh, it's okay," Jaskier blurted, "you're still hurt, let me do it, Geralt, I'll take care of everything..." He put a hand on Geralt's back, as much to steady himself as to still the witcher, and began to thrust. He tried to go slowly, but he'd been waiting for this for so long that it was hard to restrain himself. His first few strokes were as clumsy as a newborn faun, and he took a deep breath to try and focus his energies. He wanted this to last... 

"Good," Geralt said just then, his voice low and raspy, and Jaskier thought he might lose it just from that word alone. It was a close call, and he only made it through it by biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut tight as he kept driving his cock into him with ragged strokes.

Geralt's fists clutched at the blankets, balling them up tight, and he snarled in desperate frustration. Jaskier could tell he wanted more, wanted it harder, and wondered for a moment whether he could ever be enough for a man like this. It wasn't a size thing, not at all, but just a matter of... general sufficiency. Then Geralt bucked his hips again and Jaskier was jerked back to the task at hand - or at prick, as the case might be. Whatever else he might be, he was the one here right now, and that would have to be enough. 

"Easy," he murmured, stroking Geralt's scarred back. "It's good like this, isn't it? I'll make it better." He tried moving more smoothly, pleased at the moans he was able to draw from the witcher's throat with just a simple bit of finesse. He worked harder to angle his strokes, finding the best spots to rub against him from within. Soon Geralt was making a sound that in another man might have been called a whimper, and trying (but mostly failing) to reach beneath himself to grasp his cock. Jaskier yearned to see that, to help as much as he was able. "Turn over," he whispered to Geralt. "Let me look you in the face."

With a grunt, Geralt flipped over between strokes, giving Jaskier reason to worry about his injuries again. "Careful," he said, but the word turned into a groan as Geralt drew his legs up to let Jaskier sink back into him. 

"I'm not so sore that I can't take a pounding from you," Geralt said, cupping his cheek in one big hand. "Don't hold back. You can... give me the rest."

Jaskier nodded eagerly, gazing down into his golden eyes, letting his glance travel down his thick-furred chest and then onward over his stomach and down to his magnificent cock, which the bard was well-acquainted with (and indeed, had composed several odes in praise of, which he had strict orders never to sing anywhere Geralt could hear them.) "Who am I," he said with a sweet smile, "to argue with the mighty Geralt of Rivia?"

Geralt frowned as if about to protest that Jaskier argued with him all the time, but the bard interrupted that train of thought with a thrust of his hips hard enough to make the witcher's eyes roll back in his head for much more pleasurable reasons. From this angle, too, he could reach down and grip Geralt's cock with his free hand, circling his girth, teasing his thumb across the wet slit of his head. "Fuck!" Geralt groaned, his fingers digging into Jaskier's shoulders, trying to pull him closer. Jaskier bent down far enough to indulge a single greedy kiss before drawing back again so he could keep pounding into him over and over.

Jaskier was desperate to come, but stubbornly determined to keep going until Geralt finished first. He used every trick in his repertoire, mentally reciting the most boring poetry he could muster and even doing sums in his head to try and distract himself, until finally Geralt gave a hoarse cry and clenched around him hard enough to bruise (though not quite the bear trap he'd feared). Jaskier gasped at the sudden rush of seed that flowed over his hand, dripping onto Geralt's stomach, and worked his wrist to coax out every last drop. Only then did he allow himself the release he had struggled so valiantly to resist. Once Geralt's grip on him loosened, Jaskier was able to deliver a couple of final thrusts before he lost all pretense of control and flooded Geralt's ass with his hot load.

They lay tangled together, Jaskier sprawled across Geralt's body, Geralt lazily stroking the bard's back. "Going to need another bath," Geralt grumbled, but his heart wasn't in the complaint. 

"Yes," Jaskier said. "Your valley of plenty is definitely overflowing." He knew he'd done well because Geralt just gave a single huff of laughter and didn't even frown at the allusion. 

"More exercise than you're used to," Geralt said. "You'll be sore in the morning."

"Well, so will you. Good thing I still have plenty of chamomile oil," Jaskier replied. That time, Geralt gave his ass a smack, which he probably deserved. "But sleep for a little while first - you need your rest. So do I, for that matter," he added with a yawn, resting his head atop the bounteous pillows of Geralt's chest. The witcher draped an arm over him, ensuring that he wasn't going anywhere, and together they settled in to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Slip A Dick To Your Witcher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544836) by [Arcadion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcadion/pseuds/Arcadion)




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